What happens in Vegas
by CharlieGeorge
Summary: The Devil's heading back to Vegas, and he needs a favour... Set somewhere between Seasons 2 and 3 because that's where I'm up to with my rabid binge-watching, so to be considered AU, I guess. A hellishly unoriginal title, i know, but this is my first foray into writing of any kind, so please be gentle with me!
1. Chapter 1

Chloe's eyes flew open and she listened intently, waiting for the noise that had woken her to be repeated. The digital clock on her nightstand read 04:28 and the apartment should have been silent – Trixie was with Dan for the weekend and Mazikeen was off somewhere enjoying a sleepover of her own, although Chloe harboured no suspicion whatsoever that actual _sleeping_ would form part of her roomie's agenda. Chloe herself had made the most of the rare evening of peace with super-long bath and an early night, tucked under her comforter watching Netflix with a beer in hand.

Her bedroom was still dimly lit by the glow of the TV, the "Are you still watching?" message hovering mid-screen, letting her know that she'd fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of her boxset marathon. The TV hadn't woken her, then. Had she been dreaming, perhaps?

No. There it was again, a dull thunk and a metallic scraping that had no place in an empty apartment in the small hours of the morning. Heart in mouth, brain in overdrive, Chloe fumbled for the service weapon tucked under the mattress, her reactions only steadying once she felt the pistol's reassuring weight in her hand. Creeping out of bed, she quietly opened her bedroom door and peered through the tiny gap. The apartment beyond was in darkness, the only light coming from the arc sodium streetlight outside as it shone dimly through the drawn window blinds, casting staccato orange stripes on the floor of the hall.

Slowly, so slowly, she eased the door wider and slipped through, careful to keep her weight away from the creakier floor boards. She padded silently along to the open plan family area, gun raised, and stopped dead when she heard a definite noise from the kitchen, followed by a muffled curse.

"LAPD," she shouted. "Come out with your hands up!"

There was another clatter behind the kitchen counter and two hands appeared above it, clutching a pan apiece, swiftly followed by a thick head of dark hair, two deep brown eyes and a gleaming shark-like grin.

"Hello, Detective! Did I wake you?"

Chloe let out a shaking breath and lowered her weapon. "Dammit, Lucifer, you're lucky I didn't shoot you."

Standing up to his full height and straightening his misappropriated 'Kiss the Cook' apron fastidiously, he quirked an eyebrow. "I'm rather surprised you didn't, given your track record in that department. Besides, if you were less of a sloven in the kitchen and washed up after making whatever disgusting convenience meal you shovelled down yourself last night, I wouldn't have had to go searching through your appallingly stacked cupboards for clean pans and you'd probably still be asleep. Entirely your own fault."

She gazed back at him, deadpan. "What the hell are you doing here, Lucifer? It's 4.30am."

He gestured extravagantly at the milk and flour sitting on the countertop. "Making breakfast, Detective! What does it look like?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "Of course you are. Silly of me to ask."

He beamed at her, oblivious. "There we are, then. Are pancakes to your taste this morning, Detective?"

"You have no idea how much I do _not_ want pancakes right now, Lucifer."

His eyes darkened and the impossible grin widened even further as he flipped that internal switch that seemed to turn him from arrogant but clueless fop to smooth and sinuous seducer in a heartbeat. "Well. If you'd rather have me for breakfast, I'll happily oblige. I'm told I taste rather delicious topped with syrup and cream."

Chloe rolled her eyes, trying not to pay attention to the sudden HD footage of whipping cream, strawberries, and a very naked Civilian Consultant now playing out in her mind's eye. Oh god, these mental images were getting beyond a joke. Where did the strawberries come from?! He hadn't even mentioned fruit.

"So you broke into my apartment – _again_ – to make breakfast. In the middle of the night," she stated, hoping he'd fail to notice the slight strangle in her voice.

"I most certainly did _not_!" Lucifer looked scandalised. "Breaking and entering is far beneath a man of my means and intelligence, Detective. I simply used my key."

Chloe spluttered. "You used your _what_ , now? You have a key to my apartment? Maze and I need to have some serious words."

"Maze isn't the little demon you should be taking this up with, Detective." He reached into a pocket and produced a pink 'T' keyring, complete with plastic unicorn, from which dangled what was evidently a front door key to the apartment. "Turns out your spawn is very easily swayed to the Dark Side. In fact she's almost as devilish as I am."

Lost for words, Chloe leaned on the counter with her head in her hands. The ability of this man to confound her – not to mention corrupt her eight year old daughter – was almost preternatural. "Just… just tell me what this is about, Lucifer."

He cracked a couple of eggs and expertly whisked them into the milk and flour mixture. "Road trip, Detective!" he announced gaily. "Two days in Sin City. So run along and pack, there's a good girl; we fly at 7am."

Chloe's head was spinning. What the hell? Was this guy for real? He'd pulled some stunts in the time she'd known him, but this...? She was so busy trying to digest the sheer gall of the man that it was several seconds before she realised he was still speaking.

"…at the MGM Grand this evening. The occasion calls for a little refinement, darling, so none of your usual plebeian workaday jeans and t-shirt combos, hmm? Adorable as they are, obviously," he added hastily as he noticed her seething expression. He looked her up and down as he deftly flipped the pancakes. "And as sultry as you look with that bed-head, Detective, those penguin-patterned pyjamas are a sartorial sin worthy of hellfire itself and should definitely stay at home. In fact," he smirked, "I'd suggest you forego the pyjamas altogether. Travelling light, you know. Carry-on baggage only. More space for toys if you leave those monstrosities behind."

Chloe rolled her eyes so hard that she could practically see the back of her own head. "Whatever, Lucifer. First off, it's not a _road trip_ if a plane is involved. And secondly, I'm not packing pyjamas," his face lit up at this, only to drop again as she continued, "Because I'm not packing anything at all. Because I'm. Not. Going. Anywhere."

"But Detective," he cajoled, drawing out the last syllable until she felt like slapping it out of his handsome mouth. She glared at him, ire rising even further as he slid a plate of perfectly fluffy, strawberry-topped pancakes in front of her on the counter. Strawberries. Seriously? Could he read her goddamn _mind_?

"You can't just _do_ things like this, Lucifer. Turning up all, I dunno, _Lucifery_ in the middle of the night, demanding God knows what –"

He looked nonplussed by her exasperation. "Come now, Detective. I can let the Dad reference slide just this once, but I think we both know that 'Lucifery' isn't really an adjective, don't we? Mustn't let grammatical standards slip just because we're overtired."

"I'm not over _tired_ ," she emphasised. "I'm over _this_. Get out. Now."

She picked up his jacket from where he'd hung it over the kitchen stool and shoved it into his arms, keeping her hands on his chest as she pushed him bodily towards the front door.

Surprised, he let her steer him backwards over the threshold, mesmerised by her strength of will and purpose. He stood at least a head taller than her, had held all the demons of Hell in thrall for eons, and yet this petite human with her huge blue eyes and her soul made of steel and light… she wielded a power over him that he was at a loss to explain. He was damned – literally – if he knew how she did it, and his mind raced as he tried to process the situation. He'd surprised her with breakfast and an expenses-paid trip to Vegas; quite the romantic gesture, he'd thought, if one happened to be that way inclined. Which he wasn't. Obviously. And yet here she was, guns blazing and all but throwing him out on his arse.

"Detective, I –"

"Can it, Lucifer. I'm not playing this game anymore. I'm going back to bed, and _you_ , before you say it, are not gonna be anywhere in the vicinity when I do."

He grasped her hand in the hope that he could get her to stop prodding him ferociously in the chest – it was bloody uncomfortable, not to mention undignified – and held her palm over his heart. He genuinely didn't understand how they'd ended up at such cross-purposes, but he knew he had to fix it. On some level he also knew that it wasn't just because he needed her help. _Nope,_ he told himself, _absolutely_ not _going there_. He closed his eyes briefly and took a steadying lung-full of air, noticing how it seemed to get wrapped around something in his chest. Something that made it difficult to breathe. Emphysema, maybe? _Bloody_ mortality. Might be time to give up the smokes.

"Detective," he said gently. " _Chloe._ I'm… sorry."

She stilled, startled as much by his apology as by his unaccustomed use of her given name, and disarmed by the pained, unguarded expression on his face. He looked… _defeated_.

"I've done this all wrong, haven't I?"

"You _think_?!"

To his credit, he looked somewhat abashed. "Let's start this again, shall we?"

She started to object, but he cut across her.

"Please, Detective. I really need your help."

* * *

So! What could possibly be so important in Vegas? Will Lucifer be able to convince Chloe to go with him? I'd love to know what you think of this so far and where you think it might be going, so hit me up with your comments and constructive criticism. Please bear in mind that it's my first attempt at writing, though, and go easy on me! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chloe stood in the doorway, her hand still on Lucifer's chest. "You have exactly one minute to explain to me what the hell is going on. Talk."

Lucifer took a deep breath. "I'd view it as a very… _personal_ favour if you would agree to accompany me to Las Vegas this weekend, Detective. I have some business to conduct out there for which I require a female companion. Soften up the opposition, so to speak."

She bridled at this and pulled her hand away. "I'm not your arm candy, Lucifer. Take a Britney or three."

"No, no, no, Detective, you misunderstand me; that wouldn't do at all. This requires class, not ass. Although you, happily, fulfil the brief on both counts."

He smiled at her earnestly and she snorted an incredulous laugh, irritated by the crassness of his backhanded compliment but amused despite herself by his ability to deliver it with such an air of innocent sincerity in his plummy British accent. _'Claarse, not aarse'_ indeed. He was as infuriating as – what? Hell? – and he really didn't have a clue about social boundaries, but his frequent displays of genuine if slightly misplaced enthusiasm had a way of softening her. Before she'd met him, she'd never imagined that such a disarming blend of adorable naiveté and incorrigible deviance could even exist, let alone be embodied by the one person.

And besides, he'd piqued her interest now. Her well-honed detective's nose could smell a mystery, and she was intrigued. She stepped aside to allow him back in to the house and closed the door behind him. "What's the gig?

Ah. Lucifer's relief at her slight concession was short-lived. He thought quickly. "An acquaintance of mine is in need of some support with a little problem. This problem…" he searched for the right words, "reflects badly on me, so naturally I intend to do what I can to… alleviate it."

"You gotta give me more than that, Lucifer." She sat down at the kitchen counter and tucked into the rapidly cooling plate of pancakes. "I'm not getting involved in anything illegal."

Damn. He hadn't planned on having to explain the situation in any detail. Hadn't planned on explaining it at all, in fact. In his head, this was a straightforward operation – sweep the delicious detective off to Sin City for a couple of days and solve the 'little problem' simply by being seen in the right places by the right people, then fly her back home none the wiser, his own agenda accomplished without detection. Clearly he'd underestimated her instincts.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing illegal, Detective; I promise you that. I'm… somewhat indebted to this acquaintance. Morally, I hasten to add, not financially. I performed a minor favour that was returned by one much larger, and I now have an opportunity to redress the balance. The likelihood that a particularly hideous specimen of humanity might receive his just desserts in the process is merely an added boon."

"Not convincing me on the 'lawful' thing, Lucifer."

"My word is my bond, Detective," he replied. "I've never lied to you." _You've never told the whole truth, either,_ said the inner voice that occasionally passed for his conscience. He swallowed, waiting for her reaction.

"Hmmm. And I come into this how?"

"You merely need to be seen with me, Detective." Back on firmer ground now, he continued. "To all outward appearances, we will simply be a happy couple – of _tourists –_ " he corrected quickly, seeing her raised eyebrows, "enjoying a weekend away. This miscreant and I have had dealings in the past and he's aware of my association with our mutual acquaintance, so our presence alone should be enough make him reconsider his current course of nefarious action. Subtle suggestion is all that's needed in this case. No threats, no violence, no need for a grand performance."

"And Maze can't do this instead of me?"

"Yes, well, I did think of that, but as much as I admire her skill set, you'll recall I've just said 'no grand performance'. Maze isn't exactly what one might call subtle and understated, is she?"

"No, but apparently she's a kettle," Chloe retorted. Seeing his puzzled look, she clarified, "Because you just called her black."

"Touché, Detective," he responded, lips quirking in amusement at her barb before his eyes grew serious. "Believe me, I wouldn't put this on you if I thought there was a better option. Please, Detective… I need your help. Will you come to Las Vegas with me?"

She gazed back at him levelly, considering his request. The tension in his jaw and in the lines around his eyes told her just how much this meant to him. He was still holding something back, she knew that, but she trusted him.

"Of course I will," she said.

He gusted out the breath he'd been holding and threw his hands in the air. "Well if it's that simple, what the bloody hell was all the drama for earlier, then?" he whined dramatically, baffled. "You could have just said that when I first asked!"

"You _didn't_ ask, Lucifer. You demanded. And you're welcome, by the way," she said pointedly.

"Ah. Of course. Thank you, Detective. I owe you."

She shook her head. "You don't _owe_ me, Lucifer. That's not how friendship works."

"Really? Well, I must say, that's a let-down. I'd rather hoped you might desire some wickedly decadent recompense. Preferably something of the carnal variety. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, after all."

She rolled her eyes and popped a strawberry into her mouth, sliding her empty pancake plate across the counter. "I'm going to take a shower. If you're determined to repay the favour, you can do the washing up."

When she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later wrapped in a fluffy towel and with her hair dripping, Chloe found Lucifer sprawled elegantly on her bed. She was taken aback for a moment at how much of it he occupied, and how natural it seemed to see him lounging in her personal haven looking for all the world as if he belonged there. _Chalk_ that _up on the list of reactions you don't want to think about,_ she told herself. He'd found the TV remote and was watching her box set from the previous night with an expression of thinly veiled disgust.

" _Making a Murderer_? Really, Detective, you disappoint me," he declared. "An evening all to yourself, free to indulge any desire you might wish, and you chose to spend it watching a dreary television programme that's effectively all about your day job? Tsk tsk, darling. All work and no play makes Decker a _very_ dull detective."

He swung his long legs off the bed and stood, looming over her. She stepped aside, grasping the towel tightly around her, and pointed at the bedroom door. "Out."

He sidled past and turned back to lean against the doorframe, lopsided smile firmly in place, his dark eyes large and full of promise as he looked her up and down. "It makes me quite wretched to think of you here all alone, you know. If I haven't made it clear already, Detective, I'm always at your disposal for Netflix and chill…"

"OUT!" she yelled, losing her composure and throwing a hairbrush at him where he stood smirking in the doorway.

"Oooh, Detective," he said as he retreated, eyes dancing. "Make sure you pack that brush. It's been an age since I had a good spanking."

Chloe closed the door firmly on his mischievous grin, wishing she could slam the door that led to the mental IMAX screen in her head with the same ease. The man was sin personified. She shook her head, laughing to herself, and started to pack her bag.

By the time they hit the road the sky was already beginning to lighten, lilacs and pinks and mauves painting the inky blue ahead of them as the black Corvette sped towards the sunrise. Lucifer drove with his usual mix of control and wild abandon, wilfully ignoring speed limits and stop signs in the early morning twilight and absently drumming the steering wheel in time with the frenetic piano of the Nina Simone CD he'd chosen as the soundtrack to their trip.

Chloe fired off a couple of quick texts to Dan and Maze to let them know she'd be out of town for the weekend, but she looked up from her phone as the car shot beneath the 405 underpass. "You missed the turning," she pointed out. "You need to turn back. LAX is to the south."

"Yes, thank you, I'm well aware of where LAX is, Detective," he smiled as he pulled a tyre-screaming left turn onto the northbound 405. "But we're headed to Van Nuys."

"Van Nuys? But there are no commercial airlines at Van Nuys."

"Another fact of which I'm well aware. Is it National State the Obvious Day?" She shot him a dry look and he grinned back at her, clearly amused. "You actually thought we were flying commercial, didn't you? Oh, _bless_ you! I might be the King of Hell, darling, but an hour in cattle class with the holidaying hordes is beyond even _my_ pain threshold."

"So you chartered a plane out of Van Nuys. Of course you did. Because this little trip isn't crazy enough already."

"Not just a _plane_ , Detective. A Gulfstream IV," he beamed, evidently delighted with himself. "The Rolls Royce of the sky. If said Rolls Royce came with table service and a kingsized bed, of course." He cast a sidelong look at her and all but leered.

"Oh my God," Chloe groaned in semi-disgust, face-palming before she even realised she'd moved her hand.

"Nothing to do with _Him_ , Detective, I assure you!" Lucifer said cheerfully. "Although I confess, the idea of making you scream His name as I initiate you into the Mile High Club isn't altogether as off-putting as it should be."

She shook her head. "You have some seriously dysfunctional fantasies, Lucifer."

He glanced at her again before turning his eyes back to the road and the horizon ahead of them, grinning fiendishly. "Trust me," he said, "you don't know the half of it."

The advantage of Lucifer's Indy-esque driving was that they made it to Van Nuys inside 20 minutes. He swung the car directly onto the airfield, pulling up outside a large hangar, and guided Chloe towards a waiting jet.

"Good morning, Mr Morningstar. It's good to see you again, sir," said the dapper man emerging from the belly of the plane. He inclined his head to Chloe. "Ma'am."

"Morning, Mac," said Lucifer, "this is Detective Decker. Thanks for accommodating us at such short notice. Are we set for wheels-up at 7?"

"Good to go when you are, sir. Maria's already on board and will take care of anything you need during the flight."

He took their bags and led the way up the steps into the cabin of the gleaming white jet, where an immaculately uniformed flight attendant was waiting to welcome them with an ice bucket that contained a perfectly chilled bottle of vintage Krug. Chloe took a glass, trying to conceal her amazement at the sight of the plane's plush interior with its toffee coloured leather upholstery, polished walnut tables, and thick wall-to-wall carpets. She'd always assumed that the portrayals of private aircraft she'd seen on TV were over-exaggerated for other-worldly effect, but apparently not. Who knew?

"I kinda feel like the President," she said. "I didn't think this level of luxury was available to ordinary mortals."

Lucifer pulled a face. "I'd say you were more Twiglet than Cheeto, Detective. An interesting choice of words, nonetheless. I'm not convinced he's human, either."

She ignored him, wandering around the expansive cabin, gawping when she spotted that it did indeed have a kingsized bed.

All of a sudden, Lucifer was looming over her shoulder. "See something you like, Detective?" he asked, leaning down slightly to speak softly in her ear. "The flight takes an hour; plenty of time for a starter, if not for a main course."

She stepped away quickly, deciding to try for a change of subject before her internal IMAX screen could roll itself out again and make her blush.

"So, tell me about this acquaintance of yours," she said, choosing a seat and relaxing back into the supple leather as the jet started its smooth taxi to the runway. "You must owe him pretty big to drop everything and jet to Vegas at, like, six hours' notice. I guess he's someone you know from way back?"

His usual eloquence seemed to desert him. "Er, no, not really."

She narrowed her eyes. If she didn't know better she'd have sworn she saw him squirm. "What aren't you telling me, Lucifer?"

It was the question he'd dreaded, but he couldn't put it off any longer. "Um… It's, er… Well, it's Candy, actually."

Chloe shot upright in her seat. "Candy? As in, your _ex wife_ , Candy?! Jesus _Christ_ , Lucifer! You didn't think to mention this sooner?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Yes, well, I didn't think it'd help to labour the point. Least said, soonest mended, and all that."

She stared at him, her blue eyes wide and wounded. "You thought I wouldn't help you if I knew it was her."

He couldn't meet her gaze.

"You manipulated me, Lucifer," she said. The pain in her voice made him flinch. "I trusted you, and you manipulated me."

Chloe jumped up and made for the cabin door, yelling out for the flight attendant as she went, but her shout was drowned out by the sudden scream of jet engines as the plane lurched forward. Knocked off balance, Chloe fell, and would have hit the floor had Lucifer not leapt up to steady her, pulling her against him as they both hit the partition wall and were pinned in place by the G-force of the jet's take-off run.

" _God dammit!_ " She threw him off as soon as the plane left the ground and flung herself back into her seat, swallowing past the lump that had formed in her throat, born of equal parts hurt and frustration. Knowing exactly how much time she'd serve if she indulged the urge to brain him with a champagne bottle, she grabbed an eye mask and yanked it down over her face, feigning instant sleep so she could ignore him for the duration of the flight at least. _Selfish, insufferable, insensitive, arrogant asshole._

That the mask also served to disguise the tears that were pricking at her eyes was something she didn't really want to acknowledge.

Lucifer sat forward in the seat opposite Chloe, head in hand and waiting for her to take the mask off and start berating him, but he could tell by the change in her breathing the exact second that her pretence drifted into genuine slumber. He watched her sleep, moved by how small and vulnerable she looked, and wondered just how much damage he'd done. He cursed himself for handling the whole situation so ineptly but with all that was at stake he'd had to act quickly, leaving precious little time for planning. He'd sidestepped Chloe's question when she'd asked whether he could have taken Maze with him to Vegas, because the truth was that he'd considered that as an option only for the scant second that it took for the notion of an entire weekend alone with the detective to wiggle its way into his brain. As soon as that happened, there _was_ no question, and, as he'd told her, no better option. In his opinion, anyway. He shook his head at the irony of the Devil being unable to withstand his own temptation.

He knew that the decision to bring Chloe wasn't the issue, though. It was the – what? Deception? No, he refuted that utterly, because that would imply that he'd lied, and he hadn't. He'd taken care not to, as he always did. He much preferred the term _passive misdirection_.

Which, now that he thought about it, sounded very much like the manipulation that she'd accused him of.

 _What a bloody mess._

Chloe sighed heavily as the jet hit a pocket of turbulence and her head lolled awkwardly against the seat. Waiting a few seconds to make sure she stayed asleep, Lucifer gently scooped her up and crossed easily to the bed at the back of the cabin. He lowered her down carefully in its centre and covered her with the rich cotton sheet as she nestled instinctively into the pillows, murmuring nonsense in her sleep. He paused to brush the hair from her face and noticed a tell-tale dampness just where the eye mask met her cheek. _Shit._

This little trip was getting way more complicated than he'd thought.

* * *

Thank you guys for the faves and follows on my first chapter - and especially for the reviews! You were right about Candy, whYFeL ;) I hope you like this chapter too. CG x


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